


Pentacle

by Polemokrateia



Category: Hellenistic Religion & Lore, Hindu Religions & Lore, Scion (Tabletop RPG)
Genre: Children of the Gods, Gen, Pentacle, Polytheism, White Wolf - Freeform, obsidian path
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-01 00:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polemokrateia/pseuds/Polemokrateia
Summary: Children of the Gods in a modern setting. The Titan War looming on the horizon. Tricksters, protectors, prophets, geniuses and rising stars of rock music. Ancient heroes, villains, monsters and artifacts. What can go wrong, right?





	1. Seeds I: On burdens shared

“Exhausting” didn’t even come close to describing the kind of day Rajeev was having.  
   Worst of all – said day was still far from over, and Murphy ’s Law had a habit of working all too well for him. All. The. Time. Funny to observe from a distance, very much not so if one is on the receiving end of the pandemonium.

  
   Life, meanwhile, went on with the inevitability and impartiality of a great river. Humans, pets, vehicles. Even the clouds decided they wanted in on the fun, and took up the same urgent rhythm as the human current beneath them. Whoosh. There they go.  
He was supposed to be back home from football practice by now. Not that the late hours are his fault in any way – not this time, at least - but still… time to pick up the pace.

   Or not.

  
   There is an old woman standing alone, slightly apart from the busy crowds. Wrinkled, bent like an ancient willow tree. Looking far too dejected to be waiting for someone or just minding her business. Help is obviously needed here.

  
\- Is something the matter, grandmother?  
\- Yes. I… I need to cross this road, but… these old feet are not what they used to be, and if I take too long getting to the other side, and the cars lose their patience, and begin making that terrible noise, I could just fall down, and…  
\- Is that it? Let me help you, then. It’s not that far. Here, let’s follow the others.

  
   She leans on the young man gratefully, and they start out with a good pace. The grey-haired lady is almost unnaturally light, and seems so very tiny. Still, no time to ponder. The human stream does not wait. They walk, and walk, and it is taking far. Too. Long.  
   The grandma’s weight gradually grows, too. At first, her self-appointed assistant could blame it on his own fatigue, but eventually the change became far too great for that.  
   And, once they reach the middle of the road (wait, what? So little progress in what felt like half an hour?), her legs just give out. No amount of support can help the old woman walk, so Rajeev is forced to let her ride on his back.  
   Not the brightest idea. That load is abominably heavy, and grows even more so with every single step. Which, incidentally, seem to be taking even more time.  
The crowd rushes past. The light is green for the vehicles now, and they are not inclined to wait until the strange pair gets to the other side. The engines begin roaring.

  
   A Volvo comes an inch away from hitting the teenager. It doesn’t. No other car does, either. They reach safety. Time seems to return to normal. Out of breath, Rajeev gently lowers his passenger to the ground. Whew. Rest, at last.

  
   Not for long. He barely has the time to remind his lungs how to function properly, before uncle Murphy strikes again – with a baseball bat, no less.  
Not in a metaphorical sense, no. Some jerkasses really did pick this exact moment to attack him. Figures. And nobody seems to be paying attention – except for the hag. Who is paying entirely too much attention, all wide-eyed and speechless. What is her deal?

    What is the attackers’ deal, for that matter? They keep laughing, and beating him up, and if the boy knows anything about this kind of guys, asking them any questions will do no good.  
   He asks anyway. They laugh, and laugh some more.

  
   Those baseball bats,,, have gotten somewhat bloody, haven’t they?

  
   The attackers are no more than blurry figures by now. Two-headed, four-or-six-armed silhouettes, moving in slow motion. Closing in on their prey.  
With a sinking feeling, Rajeev realizes their objective isn’t even his own ass. It’s the tiny old woman, trying in vain to make herself invisible, while the predators inch closer bit by bit.  
   To be fair, the invisibility might well have worked. They are still on a busy street, and not a soul has noticed the commotion. Some amount of willful ignorance is to be expected, sure, but how can the crowd be so completely deaf and blind?

  
   Somebody has to stop this nonsense. And, if no one else is about to interfere…

  
   The teen raises himself up with some difficulty. He lunges at the nearest gang member – how many arms does this one have, again? – and promptly receives a boot to the gut. Followed by the already familiar bat. Ouch. Ouch again.

  
   While her would-be defender was discovering the limits of his pain tolerance, the hag had been holding on to something. At first, it was no larger than a match. It grew over time – slowly, but surely. It turned into a walking cane at last – which would certainly have been useful to have earlier, when she had to be carried here.  
   Once the object has completed the strange transformation, the ancient woman throws it to the boy with uncanny precision. And somehow, he manages to grasp the makeshift weapon before any of the attackers react. Well, a stick is better than nothing.  
   Only, it’s not a stick anymore. It’s a heavy mace. And an impressive-looking one, too. The kind Hanuman would carry around in the stories of times past. What the…?

  
   Rajeev doesn’t know where the strength to lift the weapon came from. He is as much caught off guard by this newfound power as the surrounding enemies. Still, looking a gift horse in the mouth is bad policy. Time to put the shiny toy to good use.  
   A hit. Another one. Two, five. By the time the fight is finished, he can see who he had been dealing with clearly. And somehow, believing his eyes comes naturally. Of course he had just beaten a gang of rakshasa. Why not? Hardly crazier than the rest of the day had been.  
   Then, he looks up.  
   This, of course, will forever be ingrained in Rajeev Mohan’s memory as the moment words like “crazy” and “unbelievable” stopped being a part of his vocabulary.

  
   Tall and imposing, bright like the young sun in early June, Vishnu Narayan Himself is smiling down on the mortal. Skin the color of evening, movements like flowing water, lotus, chakra, conch shell. One hand raised in the abhaya mudra. The works. A distant echo of hymns sung in perfect unison might be involved, too, unless that last part has been supplied by Rajeev’s mind to round out the picture.

  
\- Impressive performance, child. I expected you to be capable, and you did not disappoint.  
\- This… was all a test? But… but…

  
   The young man does not know just what to say. He had wanted to ask so many questions, but for a moment, they all seem equally ridiculous and unworthy in the God’s presence. So, he ends up complaining instead.

  
\- Was the old woman charade really necessary? She was heavy as all heck.  
\- Heavy as responsibility, rather. And yes, that part was also unavoidable. I hope you understand in helped me see what kind of individual you were.  
\- You mean to say, you can’t just… well, look and see whatever you want?

Hari’s smile merely grows wider and a tiny bit slier.

  
\- Such things are complicated as, to quote you, all heck. Suffice it to say, free will is not merely a handsome word, and it allows intelligent creatures to act against their nature. Righteous individuals can fall from grace, twisted ones rise above their unclean ways. Those meant for greatness do not always achieve it; those whose road was to be humble and uneventful reach unrivalled heights. Your choices spoke for themselves. Do you desire a more detailed explanation?  
\- No, I think I’ve got it. And… this thing belongs to you, right?

   The mace seems so light in Rajeev’s hand, and it gives him such wonderful confidence, but he still prefers not to hold on to something that is not his for longer than necessary.

  
\- This one is yours. Merely an imperfect reflection of my own weapon, but it should suffice for the time being. You… will likely need it.  
\- Because of rakshasas and other monsters.  
\- Precisely. Had you not been Awakened, they would have taken longer to find you. Some particularly fortunate Sleepers manage to live to a ripe old age. It happens, if rarely. You, however, are likely to become a target of the Asuras and similar beings of chaos. It is only fair that you receive the means to defend yourself and others from such danger.  
\- But why? Just… why, and why me in particular? What is this Awakening thing?  
\- Why indeed. Because you are full of power. Pure divine might, and the stronger it flows in your veins, the more likely you are to attract the attention of beings who either detest the Gods for a plethora of reasons, wish to destroy the world order we are a part of – and which is a part of us – or are simply antithetical to us and the world order by their very nature. And there is no shortage of such beings, small and great. They are a big impetus behind the existence of individuals like you, Rajeev. You can do much to help protect the world from them, once you come to know yourself and complete the Awakening.

   Reassuring the confused mortal? Why bother, if he can be turned into a prickly ball of apprehension.

  
\- What can I do, if the Gods, apparently, can’t keep these monsters under control?  
\- There are adversaries that are more than a challenge to a full God. There are also much smaller ones, like the ones you just dealt with. Surely divine intervention should not be necessary for their ilk. Our touch… it can be a heavy thing, you know. Yours is lighter, for now. Besides, you are not defenseless like most full humans.  
\- What… are you not saying, Lord?  
\- I am saying precisely what you need to be aware of, only not spelling it out. But if you insist – very well. You are my child. Was that straightforward enough for your taste?  
\- No. No. No way. My parents are normal humans, they never mentioned anything about...

    Granted, denial is highly unlikely to change the hard facts, but indulging in it is still obligatory at times like these. However, Gods tend to have little patience for it.

\- You prevailed against… let us see – five rakshasas, Rajeev. Clearly something common people do every day.

  
   There is silence for a very long minute. - So, in addition to everything, I am adopted. Great. What now?

  
\- You answered that question yourself. Why did you not pass the old woman by?  
\- She needed help. Somebody had to do something.  
\- And there you have your answer. Somebody always has to help. Somebody always has to do things others can not, or will not. You shall have plentiful reasons to wish you had remained ignorant, and just as many to bless the choice you made. And you will not be alone. The children of the Gods have a way of finding each other.

  
   A way of finding each other? Now, that sounds promising. If one is to become involved in tasks guaranteed to be hard, dangerous and occasionally illegal, one had better find good associates. A burden shared is… well, a burden shared.

  
\- So, my job is to lighten your workload by taking on a portion of it. Thanks, Father.  
\- Ah, guilty as charged, son. But, consider: you also have a vested interest in the welfare of the World, do you not?  
\- Yes, yes. It’s just… there is so much to take in.  
\- Of course there is. You were just coming back home from training. Then, you became involved with something greater than could be imagined. This will become the story of your life, for better or for worse. The truth is always deeper than it seems at first glance.

  
   Vishnu Narayan places a gentle palm on his newly awakened son’s head in blessing. What demanded to be said has been, and now what the Godchild needs is not more words, but time – as much as circumstances will allow.  
And just like that, the God leaves in a blinding flash of something that is both physical light and clarity of mind. Or – can the Protector of the World ever leave any place for good? Perhaps, His presence merely becomes less overwhelmingly obvious.

  
   His child, meanwhile, hurries back home, to a newly abnormal and irritatingly interesting life.


	2. Seeds: Pythokhtonos

   The owner’s bland taste in music might not be the only reason for this particular bar’s lack of popularity, but it certainly was one of the main problems.

 

   Now, the place is far from spacious. Live music would have been too much to expect, and the acoustics leave a lot to be desired. Claire can appreciate that. But every time she visits the Lachesis, the recordings Bruno feeds to his sound system just blend one into another, forgettable and empty.

   Still, Bruno himself is always good company, when he’s not too busy, and the mojitos never disappoint. All in all, none of the patrons are having a bad time. The bar is not likely to go out of business anytime soon. Nice of the universe to balance itself out, even in trivialities.

 

   She shuffles her tarot deck absent-mindedly, about to make a simple five-card spread.

 

   - Hey there, oracle. Would you mind doing a reading for me?

   The strange woman’s skin is a lighter brown than Claire’s own, eyes almost yellow, long black hair a silky cascade flowing down her back.

   - Not at all. Sit down. Your name?

   - Ameena. Yours?

   - Claire. Nice to meet you, Ameena.

   - Same here. And can I… ahem, not ask my question aloud? If that’s a problem…

   - It’s fine, if you’re sure you don’t want to share. Although sharing would help.

   - Not necessarily. Anyway, thanks, I’ve got a good feeling about this already.

   

   For a moment, the woman’s expression returns to being cocky, then it morphs into thoughtfulness, while the cards are being shuffled anew.

   

   - By the way, how far do you believe in this? Divination, I mean.

   - It’s not always divination. Usually, the tarot just help us sort ourselves out, you know. Your own unconscious mind will give you the actual answers. The arcana themselves are just symbols that allow us to look deep enough.

   - Usually, you say. But sometimes…?

 

   Claire bites her lip. The query hits a little bit too close to home. Her first experience with divination had been less than ordinary.

   

   - Sometimes weird things happen. But spooky stories can wait. Pick five cards.

   

   Ameena complies. A table in a bar is hardly an ideal place for this, but it works well enough. Perhaps better than confining magic to a decked out salon would have.

 

   - There. Do you lay them out in a row, or…

 

   The diviner shakes her head and aligns the spread properly. West. East. South. North. Navel

 

   - No. Like this. In theory, it’s the four cardinal directions and the center. Not that anyone ever bothers to find the actual directions, of course. So, let’s begin with…

 

   The High Priestess. A Major Arcana right off the bat, huh?

   The same card again. And again. And yet again. All five cards are the same.

   What the Tartarus just happened?

   She looks at the spread, half-expecting it to turn into something normal. Then her gaze turns to the querent, who seems more amused than perplexed.

 

   - You did mention weird things happening occasionally.

   - Oh yes. But… okay, this is not that bad. The High Priestess is a figure of mystery, she who protects what must be protected from profane eyes. She represents intuitive understanding, wisdom that transcends words. Guidance in matters of the soul. Self-reflection. Ever heard about the mystery cults of antiquity?

\- Of course. And repeated five times…

   

A helpless shrug is the diviner’s reply.

 

\- I wish I knew. Such things are not supposed to happen. But, since it did… might just be a way to emphasize the importance of this omen. A giant neon sign that says: “Pay attention, or else”. Honestly, what kind of chaos are you involved in?

 

   This gets Ameena to smile again.

 

   - A different brand every day. But this is more helpful than I expected. I understand what the High Priestess means here. Thank you. Now, what drink do you prefer?

  - I’ve already had enough, thank you. Hope you got the answer you needed.

\- Oh, I did. This was supposed to be just a relaxing evening, but now I have a lot to think about. Good thing this bar doubles as a Pythia’s cave. Makes up for the lousy music.

\- Tell me about it. I keep trying to convince Bruno to diversify a bit, but no dice.

\- At least it’s not distracting. So… you know the owner? Must be your usual weekend haunt, then.

\- Yeah. And people ask for readings all the time, although for most the cards don’t pull the impossible just to make a point.

 

   An encouraging thought. The guest decides to study the card more closely. The figure in it is not of the usual Rider-Waite variety. Instead, it is obviously inspired by Ancient Egypt.

 

   - Oh, will you look at that picture. What a mess.

\- What do you mean?

\- She’s wearing an Old Kingdom dress. The crown is copied from New Kingdom depictions of queens. The temple, of course, is obviously Hellenistic.

\- Well, artistic liberties have been taken, I guess.

\- The mother of all shoddy explanations. But at least, there are no aliens in sight.

\- I’m sure there are decks with those, too. Sounds like you care about historical accuracy a lot. Hobby or professional interest?

\- Both. I do exactly what I dreamed of doing since I was little, and then some more.

\- Oh, don’t leave me hanging. Are you Lara Croft, or something?

\- Not very far off the mark, honey. I acquire artifacts for museums, particularly items that somehow ended up in private ownership, continents away from where they were found.

\- So, stealing back what was stolen. Doesn’t sound entirely legal.

\- Oh, come on. If, say, the Elgin Marbles were returned to Greece, wouldn’t it be justice? What I do is the same, but on a smaller scale.

\- And you are telling this to me because…?

\- Because, - she leans in uncomfortably close, whispering ever so softly, her breath warm on Claire’s ear, - you smell of bay leaves. Haven’t you noticed?

 

   The diviner doesn’t back away. She has had enough.

 

\- Look, whatever perfume put you in such an… intense mood, it can’t be mine. I’m mot wearing any. Also, don’t swing that way. Just so you know.

 

   If pouts were a sport, Ameena would be Olympics-level, no doubt.

 

   - What a shame. But, Claire, I’m pretty sure this smell is yours, and it has nothing to do with perfume. You will understand eventually. And I hope we can meet again.

 

   These last words are sealed with a surprisingly gentle peck on the nose, after which the black-haired beauty makes her exit, all feline grace and light steps.

 

   Claire sighs. Perhaps that additional drink would have been a good idea, after all. Or, she could leave slightly earlier, before the headache she feels coming reaches it’s full force.

 

   And, okay, it might just be the sickness talking – but what is wrong with the air here? It’s not the cigarette smoke. Definitely nothing to do with bay leaves, either. Something nastier.

   The would-be oracle looks around. The not-so-numerous visitors look like they have been affected, too. Pale faces, uncertain movements, coughing fits all around. Great.

 

   What’s more, she’s pretty sure she has seen some snakes slithering in dark corners. Hissing in a manner that could only be described as threatening.

 

   Unless, of course, they are here for a mojito or two. Appearances can be deceiving, right?

 

   Nah. Not likely.

 

   She stands up to leave. Heads for the door. Nobody seems to be following her example.

 

   - What are you waiting for? There’s something poisonous in the air. Let’s leave.

 

   No response. Regulars, newcomers, Bruno his mustached self – all paralyzed. A breath away from collapsing.

   Claire composes herself. Inhales deeply. Something inside her stirs – something powerful.

 

   - Move it, you idiots, get out while you can. Do as I say. Now.

   And it works. Something snaps, and the patrons hurry to the exit, some of them on their own, some supporting each other. The diviner all but drags her friend to safety.

 

   By the time they spill out outside, the hissing has grown deafening.

 

   Will the snakes follow them? Will they multiply, filling the streets like some horror flick come alive?

 

   - Well, this looks like trouble – a voice like strings made of sunlight muses.

   How very funny. But no time for wiseasses.

   Please, whatever God is listening, help, - she prays. This mess is way beyond her ability to clean up.

\- I had thought you would never ask – sings the same unmistakable voice.

   She whips around to face it’s owner.

   A golden-haired young man gazes at her, the very picture of tranquility and confidence. Pity it’s the wrong time for either.

 

\- Who are you?

\- Introductions can come after the much more pressing issue is dealt with. Although, you should have no need of introductions by now. Think harder.

 

   With that, he moves towards the door, heedless of the vile fumes now crawling out into the street with long tendrils, and the noise. Then, he enters.

   Several dozen long, long heartbeats pass. Then – only silence remains.

   Finally, the youth emerges, holding one of the serpents – or, rather, it’s lifeless body – like a piece of particularly thick rope. He throws the reptile to the ground, stepping on it’s head for good measure.

   Disgusting, but thorough.

 

   - Are they… are they gone?

  - Yes, dear. That place has been cleansed. Including the taint of bad music.

\- Thank you, my lord, Far-Shooter, Slayer of serpents. For that last kindness especially.

 

   Phoebus Apollo inclines his head, eyes the color of a July morning alight with laughter.

 

   - So, you did guess my identity. What about your own?

   - What’s the matter with my identity?

   - Wrong question.

 

   She throws up her hands in defeat.

 

   - More games. Fine, I give up. Just tell me what I need to know, please.

\- Very well. Listen now.

 

   The God’s visage turns luminous for a split second, a fraction of his true glory revealed.

   Twilight becomes brighter than midday, and a voice resounding with authority proclaims:

 

   - Welcome, child of eternity and transience, in whose veins both blood and ichor flow. You, whose path lies over an abyss that can not be bridged, and well beyond. Welcome, daughter, I acknowledge you as mine. Awaken.

 

   Overly dramatic or not, the words somehow fit the mood of the moment. The woman lets silence reign for a while, still half-disbelieving of what had just happened.

 

   - My father is Apollo. Now that’s a twist of fate if there ever was one. But why the secrecy?

   - Not every descendant of the Gods Awakens. Some never do. Occasionally, ignorance keeps their lives peaceful. Other times, it kills them. You came dangerously close to the second option, so no choice was left. Perhaps, this should have happened earlier.

 

   Oh, it should have all right. Would have explained so much in her life.

 

   - I see. So, there will be more things like those stinky bastards.

 

   She wonders idly, just what Ameena could have had to do with the incident.

 

\- And much worse. You will have to learn to take care of yourself, and of others too.

\- Teach me, then. For a daughter of the God of prophecy, I was caught completely unawares.

\- You noticed the serpents. You broke the paralysis on their victims. You knew you were ill equipped to deal with the task at hand, and did not endanger yourself needlessly. Not bullseye, but you did hit the mark. Eventually, you will be better prepared for encounters like this. Although… you do require some assistance.

 

   He produces her own deck with a flourish, but the thing feels entirely different than it used to. Even without touching, she can feel the power filling the divination tool.

 

   - Here. You left your tarot cards on the table.

\- Hey, I was in a hurry there. So, are they still usable? I mean, not toxic or anything?

 

   Phoebus’ smile is far too brilliant for words, particularly for cliché comparisons to a certain daytime luminary.

 

   - Better than it used to be, sunshine.

 

   She would have missed those cards a great deal, Claire realizes. Somehow, having them back and untouched by poison is like reuniting with a beloved cat that had been missing.

 

   - Thank you. I promise to try my best. But what if my best is not enough?

\- Oh, there shall be failures. Small, great, ones that turn out to be blessings in disguise. Perfection is unattainable, yet it is still the only goal worth pursuing.

\- Sounds like Delphic Maxim number…?

   A mildly amused chuckle.

\- No need to bring that subject up. And, since you are well enough to jest, my work here is done. Good night. Until we meet again, child.

 

   His presence vanishes like the last rays of the setting sun, and the blue-gray evening darkness, so mundane and familiar, suddenly feels suffocating.

   The revelations weigh as heavily on the Godchild’s heart as could be expected. But she knows better than to drown it in more drinks, and any awkward attempts at small talk with Bruno would hardly help either of them. He’s better off forgetting the whole mess, anyway. There should be barely any sign that something had been wrong in the Lachesis, so the owner and the patrons can probably salvage the rest of the night.

 

   Claire strokes her cards before putting them in the bag. The deck is warm to the touch. The sky, dark as it is, already holds the promise of new days to come.

   Purpose, huh? She is still not sure how she feels about that.


End file.
